Letter To No One
by parisoriginal
Summary: Rachel receives a letter from someone after years of losing contact. Trigger warning: death.
1. The Letter

**A/N: This is a letter from Quinn to Rachel. Part one of a short two chapter drabble. The second chapter will not be happy. Just saying!**

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><p>Dearest Rachel,<p>

By now you're probably married. I can't believe I just wrote that. It's making me nauseous thinking about it. Either way, by now, you're probably married. You've probably, or at least you better have, had the most amazing career. Because, I mean, after all the annoying things I had to endure with you in Glee club, you better have been the next Barbra Streisand and Patti Lupone combined, or else I'd have to kick your ass. Whatever, you just better have had a full life on stage, is what I'm trying to say.

Maybe by now you've had kids? Although, I kind of don't see you as the mom type. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure that you'd be a pretty good mom, I just find you so driven that I think you'd wait a little longer. Maybe grow some more patience? You can't see me now, and I can't see you right now either, but I laughed a little bit because you're probably frowning at that last sentence. You know it's true! Anyway, what I mean is that I hope you're happy and that your life is going as expected.

You're probably wondering why this letter is being given to you now. Or if you're as perceptive as I know you are, you're probably also wondering how come my handwriting is still as heavy as it was in high school. That's because I am writing this the day of graduation and I don't plan on giving this to you in a very long time. Why? Well, I'm… There's just things I want to say without actually saying them out loud. The mere thought of saying any of the following out loud is outrageous to me right now and I just need to write things down before I just decide to shut off everything like I always do. But you deserve to know things, Rachel. You deserve to know, so here goes nothing:

It's taken me since the moment I saw your face to this very day, as I write these words, to comprehend, to really take in, the fact that you'll never be mine. It's taken me almost four years to understand that you probably wouldn't even want to be with me, or maybe I wouldn't want you to? Ugh, how do I explain it… I'm a mess, Rachel. I've _always_ been a mess. And you're so well-kept. It's driven me up a wall since the first time I added your name to the slushy list. You never back down. You never shut up. It irks me to no end, but at the same time, I can't help but praise you for it? I looked up to you, and not literally. (Sorry, I _had_ to). Despite all the stupid and childish things I did, my vendetta against you, I really did think of you as some sort of role model. I mean, what kind of person would still believe in me even through all of that? I'd say you're the strongest person I know, Rachel.

I think it was the very second after I slapped you in the face-which I'm still extremely sorry for-that it hit me. Oh, Rachel, it hit me like a big yellow bus. In fact, I wish it had been a big yellow bus to run me over a thousand times. That's what it had felt like to hit you. It felt like I should stand still and expect a giant lightning bolt to strike me as punishment. It was enormous guilt that ricocheted back to me like a boomerang. Rachel, I wanted to cry into your arms. I wanted you to hold me so tight and tell me everything was going to be okay. I wanted to do things, sweet things, and say things to you and-and it took everything, _everything_ in me not to lock myself into a stall and hide from you and from my feelings towards you. I can't tell you how hard it was to look at you after that, even though I have a huge staring problem and it may have seemed as though all I did was look at you. It physically pained me in so many ways. A) I'd have to witness this battle between you, your future, and the T-rex. B) I'd have to witness it as a third party. C) I'd have to witness whilst drowning in my sea of emotion with your name on it. Okay, that made no sense, but whatever. All I wanted to do was get by without breaking. All my life it's what I'd have to do. I thought that if I could get through this and still remain whole, I'd win. I'd prove myself somehow.

Even then, how could I make it up to you? How could I possibly show you all the respect you've shown me? All your support? That's three years of being there without me asking…

I have no clue when you're going to get this letter, Rachel. I've put this in a box, along with things I want to leave behind. Maybe I've gotten the courage to give this to you in person someday. Maybe I've… maybe I've died? It doesn't matter. What matters is that, at some point, you'd know the truth. It scares the living hell out of me, even as I write this, the thought of telling you. Just because I'm afraid you'll sigh and give me a sad smile or a small hug with an apologetic look all over your face. Oh, God, that scares me. It'd be the ultimate closure, the ultimate rejection, and I don't think I could handle saying goodbye to you. I want you to always be a part of me and I feel like if-if I let this all happen, and sink in, and settle down, only to have it officially be you and Finn and me without you-

I just couldn't do this if it meant getting affirmation of my loneliness in return, Rachel. I hope you understand why I've waited so long to give this to you. Please understand that. Please. I'd rather smile at you from a distance, with this bullshit friendship we've developed (pardon my French, but let's be totally honest here, this was hardly a friendship and mostly on my behalf), than me barging into your relationship, in which you really seem to be happy. At least, that's what I've seen. You always were a great actress, but I really hope you're not putting on a show for anyone.

God, I feel like this letter is so _everywhere_ and I never planned it to get so messy, but there's no way I could start it over again. I don't think I'd have the guts to do so. And I may or may not have started to cry on and off throughout it and that should explain why there's slight blotches of ink on some of these words. I don't know if I can write anymore, to be honest with you. I feel like I'm running in circles and it's just going to get excessive. And I know there are millions of things I want to say but I can't ever put into words. But that's okay; perhaps it's for the best.

Rachel, before I close this off, I need you to promise me that you won't contact me about it. Like I said, I have no clue when you'll be reading this and for all I know, you could already be with me and you'll probably never read it and I'd have had a mini panic attack over nothing…but getting it out of my chest and onto this piece of paper is enough for me, for now at least. All I could ever wish for in life, other than you by my side, is that you live a full and happy life, because you deserve the whole world.

Please, never sell yourself short of anything or anyone. You're the brightest star out there, Rachel; you shine brighter than the sun ever could. And I know that you'll always will.

And

I love you. I always have.

But I'm also sorry. So, very sorry, Rachel.

And

I'll always be yours,

(_truly_)

Lucy Quinn Fabray


	2. The Visit

**A/N: It's upsetting to me that I had the idea to write this today, out of nowhere might I add, and then just a few moments ago I find out about Whitney Houston's death. I just find it odd that I'd just want to write about something like this and then that happened. **

**Anyway, trigger warning: death. Like I said, it's just a blurb. No real reason behind it, I just felt really upset this morning and decided to write it out. This concludes the story. Cheers, and RIP Whitney Houston.**

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><p>It was chilly. The wind was blowing softly, caressing her body with icy hands. It was bittersweet, the feeling.<p>

Inside, however, Rachel was a wreck.

. . .

It had been closing night. She was ecstatic. She was happy and she felt blessed. A few old friends had been in the audience that night with the exception of Kurt, who was in the ensemble along with her. Mercedes and Sam were there with their three year old, who was so well-behaved; Mike, Tina, and their twins; Finn, who was there for support. And an empty chair for whom she'd saved a ticket for, but remained empty. It wasn't much of a surprise.

Things were different. She and Finn had married at eighteen and moved to New York. He went in to fire rescue and she went to NYADA. Things got rocky for a while and they mutually separated. She still loves him and he still loves her, but they needed the time apart to figure themselves out. The long hours weighed heavy on both sides of the scale and it was so overwhelming at times that the fights would wake neighbors. It was best like this.

She was happy, though. She was lead, for once. In the past years at her school, she'd learned that things weren't remotely about her as much as the next young woman with a beautiful voice. She learned to work for what she wanted. She learned patience. She learned to be grateful. None of this meaning she wasn't before, just now she appreciated things as they came. She learned her faults and changed them on her own. It was a great experience and it benefited her greatly.

Rachel Berry was now twenty-five years old and it had been seven years since she last saw or heard from Quinn Fabray.

The night was a whirlwind of drinks, clubs, this party, that party, 'meet this guy, _he's real nice_', '_let's get out of here, wanna come over to my place?_'

By 4am, all she wanted was to walk straight without falling, a tall glass of room-temperature water, and her bed. She tried her best to climb the steps that let to her mailbox. Why she'd decided to do that, who knew? But she gathered the contents through the small metal door and locked it back up, following another two flights of stairs.

Upon opening the door, she tripped and barely had enough time to catch herself, but she latched on to the door handle and whispered a few slurred curse words under her breath. Finally releasing the bulk of mail onto the counter, she turned to the cupboard and pulled out her tallest glass and placed it under the tap. After about three of them, she opened a peculiar looking parcel with a Lima, Ohio return address. And then she threw up into the sink twice.

. . .

A single tear ran down her pink cheek. Her lip was captured between her teeth and they were showing no mercy. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and sighed.

"You shouldn't have done this." She took a step back, a small branch cracking beneath her black boot. "You should've shredded the letter. You should've, I don't know, burnt it or something."

She shook her head, closing her eyes tight, squeezing out a few more tears. She sniffled back snot, cursing at herself for not bringing her handkerchief from the car. Her heart pounded like a hammer in her chest; a very heavy hammer. It hurt to breathe in.

"Why would-why," her voice trembled and her knee shook a bit when another gust of wind blew her way. Words ran marathons in her head. Rachel was upset. She was _very_ upset. All kinds of feelings brewed up inside her since the moment she opened up that God forsaken parcel. Why couldn't her mailing system paranoia work for once in her favor? Why hadn't the parcel been lost at sea, by some abandoned island in the middle of nowhere, where it could deteriorate from the smack of each wave, and leave no trace of existence? It was unfair. Everything was unfair.

She took a step forward, this time there was no noise from a branch, just the soft padding of grass beneath her feet. Regaining herself, she took a deep breath, "Kurt's been really concerned with me. Can you believe that?" Rachel chuckled, "he actually came over with soup and a vegan cupcake. I don't even remember eating. He eyed me from the couch adjacent to the one I was zoned out on. He never said a word, though. At least, I don't remember hearing anything. I don't even think I slept that night."

Her eyes opened. They were itchy from the salty tears. "Why? Why couldn't you have told me sooner? We could have talked about things. We could have."

"Finn and I," she continued softly, "we haven't been Finn and I for a while. I don't regret marrying him, I love him. It's not about the marrying, the paperwork, or anything. It's about the timing. I think I should've waited like you said-like everyone said," she sighed, "we love each other, still, but it's not the same. He's just become my best friend and then it stops at that."

Her mind raced with the words on the piece of paper. "The first thing I noticed _was_ the handwriting, you know." A small smile tugged at the side of her lips, which were still damp with her tears. "And then I noticed the 'Dearest Rachel', and from then on it was downhill."

She had read and reread the letter over and over and over again. She couldn't believe it. It had to have been a dream. "It took me a few hours to even get to the other folded piece of paper in the small box. I had so many questions…You never specified when you'd be sending it, just that it would one day get to me. And, of course, little did I know that many of those questions would be answered right away within the first two sentences of that other paper."

The pounding was back. Her heart felt strained and her chest constricted. Her hands covered her face and she let out a soft cry. Tears were dropping like rain drops, some sinking into the material of her gloves, others flung themselves off her quivering chin or disappeared into her parted lips. Everything hurt. Her body shook, and her knees buckled, leading her to drop onto the dew filled grass. Gasping for air, she threw her head back, brown locks flying about the soft, cold wind. Tears continued to flow on their own. Minutes of silence passed. The trees rustled, the wind howled, but she remained still.

"I'm so mad, Quinn," she paused, almost startling herself with her own voice, "I'm so, so mad." Her head now forward and her gaze lost; fists balled up, nails digging into her palm, "I want to hurt you. I want to shake you. I want to grab your face and yell. I want to scream, but I'm not stupid, I know what that'll do to my vocal chords and I start rehearsal next week." She released a small laugh, involuntarily, because she knew the look on Quinn's face would be sympathetic. "Don't look at me like that. I can see your face. I might be crazy, but I'm not blind."

Her lids shut to find Quinn's hazel eyes staring back at her. The vice around her heart tightened. She had to open them again. Her leggings were ruined. She'd need to buy new ones.

"I-" she struggled to let the words out. They were like a thousand knives, impaling her one by one, tearing through her flesh. Truth be told, she didn't feel the pain much now. She'd slipped into numbness again. But even if she'd have to tell the wind, the trees, her ruined tights, the marble, or the gold plate, she'd have to say the words.

"I could've loved you. I _did_ love you. I _do_ love you."

Her fingers traced the letters on the cold metal of the grave stone. Her lip trapped between her teeth again. Her eyes closed once again, the blonde looking back at her, with eyes glossy from tears. Rachel's face scrunched up for a second, but she fought to gain back her voice enough to say the last few words before getting up, walking back to her car and driving back to her parent's house.

"And I'll always be _yours_, Lucy Quinn Fabray."


End file.
